Matchmaker, Matchmaker
by Aviva Tsuion
Summary: In the wizarding world homosexuality is illegal, but James Sirius Potter aka Mycroft Holmes has decided to change that, by forcing Sherlock to come out to the family. He's busy enough between that and his usual work. When he's roped into blind dating, he's not looking forwards to it, but what is he to do when he actually meets someone? Sequel to "Murder and a Family Reunited"
1. Make Me a Match

Author's Note: This is the sequel to "Murder and a Family Reunited" (another one of my stories), it will not make sense if you don't read that first.

I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

**Chapter 1: Make Me a Match**

Outside, sheets of rain pounded against the window. Mycroft Holmes sat in the most comfortable chair in his office, his laptop sat open on his lap. He took a sip of tea and glanced down at the list of unread emails. There was one message from the queen inviting him to a royal gala of some sort – he replied that he was honored and would be there, barring any unforeseen circumstances – and several from varied world leaders. Usual updates from his underlings filled in the gaps.

A tapping at the window tore him from his thoughts. He glanced over. An owl, not one of the ministry breed, but his sister's little snowy owl, just like their father talked about having, was hovering right outside the window. Reluctantly, Mycroft put aside his laptop and forced himself to his feet. He strolled over to the window and forced it open. The bird flew in and landed on the gold perch he had set up for just that purpose.

As the owl landed, it sent water droplets flying across the room, the bulk of which managed to hit Mycroft. He frowned slightly and set about retrieving the roll of parchment from the owl's leg. It was miraculously dry; the result of some magic on his sister's part, no doubt. He unfurled the scroll and began to read. He had barely read the salutation when the call of the owl forced his mind back to the present. The bird hooted once more. This time he looked up and saw it staring back at him, its head cocked to one side expectantly.

Mycroft sighed, "She spoils you, you know." He muttered under his breath.

All the same, he walked to his desk and fished out a treat, which he gave to the bird. Once it was nibbling away contently, Mycroft resumed his seat and returned to the letter.

"Dear James," it read, "I hope you're doing well. Mum and dad both say 'Hi' (their idea, not mine). Anyways, I was thinking, since Albus's birthday is coming up soon, we should totally have a surprise party for him! Mum and dad have agreed to it, as long as we do most of the preparations, though they agreed to make a cake! All you need to do is get him here, well that and tell me when he's free. Best of Wishes, Lily Potter"

Once he finished reading the letter, he put it aside on the little table and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his brother's number from memory – it had barely missed being put on speed dial – and waited as the phone rang. Once, twice, three times, he heard the ringing sound. In the back of his mind. He counted seven rings in total, before he was sent to the answering machine.

Mycroft sighed. He knew calling Sherlock was a rather worthless pursuit, as the man preferred to text, but it would have been convenient. He didn't bother leaving a message; instead he just placed his phone aside, next to the letter from his sister, and returned to his work as he waited for the reply text, that he was quite confident would be on its way soon.

A few minutes later, his phone rang, signaling the arrival of a new text message. Sherlock must have been busy; he usually replied within two minutes. Mycroft opened his phone and read the text.

"Busy. – S&J" it read.

He frowned disdainfully, he really didn't need the mental images that message implied, not like he pictured anything of course, but it was rather too close for comfort. Anyways, that gave him an hour, give or take, before it was worth calling back. Until then, he had a conference call with the new President of France, which went about as well as Mycroft had expected; they talked for more than an hour and got nowhere.

He didn't really feel like having another pointless conversation, this time with his brother, so he decided he ought to set off for lunch and call again when he returned. That he did, and to his surprise, six rings in, someone on the other side picked up the phone.

"Hello?" it was John, "Sorry, Sherlock isn't going to come to the phone, but I can relay a message if you like."

"Actually," Mycroft replied, "I believe it would be best if you didn't relay the message at all. I assume he's in earshot."

"You could call me you know, on _my_ phone."

"Is my brother within earshot?"

"Yes."

"Then move until he isn't."

Finally, Mycroft heard motion on the other end, as John complied with the request, which really had been more of an order.

"So, what could be this secretive? Is it something about her?" John asked, his voice betrayed irritation that quickly became concern.

"I assume you have plans for Sherlock's birthday?"

"That's it? That's the big secret?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Will you be free the weekend before?"

"Probably. Unless we have a case. Why?"

"I will take that as a yes. Get him to number 12 Grimauld Place by, lets say, 4:30 in the evening, that Saturday."

"Why?" John demanded, feeling rather like a broken record.

"A surprise party of course, courtesy of our dear sister. See you then, doctor." Mycroft hung up with a smirk.

John shut his phone with a click, that wasn't nearly loud enough to express his frustration. He made up for it by practically stomping back into the living room, where Sherlock sat, apparently deep in thought. John's conclusion was proven incorrect when the detective looked up at his approach.

"Mycroft, was it?" he asked, though it came out more like a statement than a question, "What did he want? No," John had opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock gestured for him to stop, and continued his train of thought, "I can figure it out. Not like you would have been able to answer anyways, he swore you to secrecy, of course." he shook his head, though the smile he wore, ruined the effect.

John couldn't help but smile back as his anger disappeared, "So you've figured out the case?"

"Of course, it was James Brewer. Obvious from the start, really."

"James Brewer... That was the victim..."

"Fast today, aren't we? It was a suicide, open and shut, Melissa framed Wanda – you remember the mistress – because the opportunity presented itself. She was stupid, so even the police saw through it. Obvious, boring."

"And I thought you were confident it was the estranged son, silly me."

"Yes, do keep up." Sherlock retorted, though his mischievous smile ruined the effect, yet again.

"So, how did you go from estranged son to suicide?"

"Now you're just trying to distract me."

"I wouldn't say trying. It's working, isn't it?"

Sherlock laughed "Well played, well played."

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Sherlock suddenly stood and began preparing to go out, "Let's go, it's time we find Lestrade and the rest of those idiots, and set them on the right path." he grinned.

John smiled despite himself and followed suit.

* * *

Talking to Sherlock once a year was something Mycroft found less than pleasant, a necessity, but not exactly pleasant. Once a month was something he considered to be a chore, and more than that was downright miserable, not to mention completely unnecessary. But there he was, calling his brother for the second time that month, of three. He didn't have much of another option, but calling it a chore was an understatement.

Mycroft took a sip of tea and drummed his fingers on his desk. They were taking long enough, not like he expected any different. Finally there was a stately knock at the door.

"Do come in." he called out.

An irate Sherlock burst through the door before he could even begin talking, his signature long coat flared out behind him, "What do you want?"

"Brother dearest, have a seat." Mycroft motioned to the chair across the desk from him.

Sherlock ignored him and began pacing the room, "You're wasting my time, I'm in the middle of a case."

"Yes, I was aware."

"Big brother is watching you." Sherlock quoted under his breath.

"That's original." Mycroft replied sarcastically, "Though I can't say I knew you read science fiction. I assume the influence is John's."

Sherlock shrugged and "froze" leaning against the door frame. It reminded his brother of the sulky teenager he had once been. Mycroft sighed in impatience.

"Have you reconsidered?"

"I'm not doing it." he returned to pacing, gesturing wildly as he spoke.

"Sherlock, it'll force people to look at the issue. Our dear sister would stop flirting with your dear Dr. Watson."

"And it could land me and John in jail for the rest of our lives." he countered, freezing against the door frame once more.

"As I've already said, I will make sure that that will not happen. If all else fails I can give you each an alternate identity and send you abroad until it all blows over." Mycroft punctuated his sentence with another sip of tea.

"I'm not risking John winding up in jail for the rest of his life for your stupid gamble." Sherlock spun around and threw open the door. His coat billowed out behind him as he stalked away.

"Should we go after him?" one of the guards at the door glanced in and asked.

"No."

The guard nodded and returned to his usual position, shutting the door as he did so. Once the door was shut and Mycroft was positive he was alone, he let out an exasperated sigh. He would probably have to talk to John again and get him to talk Sherlock into it, but that wouldn't be easy. Neither of them would be eager to risk the other.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Mycroft found himself so busy dealing with all the other crises that came up, from the massacre in Sudan, to elections, and the related riots, in Egypt. The wizarding world wasn't all quiet either. The new Death Eater movement, Voldemort's Army, was stirring up trouble as usual, but this time it seemed something bigger was brewing. His father, the famous Harry Potter, was considering to reform the Order of the Phoenix. This time, at least they had the Ministry on their side, and Mycroft would make sure it stayed that way.

All the same, at 4:00 on Saturday, Mycroft Holmes knocked at the door of number 12 Grimauld Place. The door flew open of what seemed to be its own volition. The house was filled with family, though not as many people as it had been during the holidays. They were all mulling around, talking and waiting. Mycroft stepped in and was almost immediately accosted by relatives greeting him from all sides. He managed to get them off his back and maneuvered into the kitchen where Lily was cooking and talking to Hugo.

"James! You came!" she exclaimed the instant she noticed her oldest brother, "Albus is coming, right?"

"I believe so." Mycroft smiled slightly.

"And his _cute_ friend?"

He shook his head, "He'll come if Albus does, but I should warn you; he isn't interested."

"You always sound so sure, maybe you're wrong!" Lily replied indignantly, "Does he have a girlfriend or something?"

"Not exactly..."

"Then how do you know?" she smiled victoriously.

Mycroft decided it was about time to change the topic, if Sherlock was going to come out to their family, it needed to be of his own volition, "What is the plan for this evening?"

"Well, we gather everyone in the living room and put them all under an invisibility spell and undo it and jump out when Albus arrives!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Mycroft interrupted before his sister could continue.

"And why's that?"

"Dr. Watson"

"What about him?"

"He was a soldier, he doesn't take kindly to surprises, particularly when he's carrying a gun – a sort of wand that muggles use – which he almost always is."

Lily pouted, "What do you suggest we do then?"

"I suggest, you simply gather everyone around the door and shout 'surprise' or the like, at our brother's arrival."

"You're so _lame_!"

"It was not my decision for our dear brother to take on an ex-army doctor for a companion."

Lily sighed and returned to her preparations, under her breath, she murmured "Is there anything else you want to ruin?"

"It depends, is there anything else you have planned?"

"You'll see." Lily replied, without turning back to face him.

Mycroft left the room and meandered around until a knock sounded at the door. It was Sherlock. Everyone rushed into the living room, with Lily at the lead to answer the door. Mycroft maneuvered such that he was just outside the mob, but not too far away. Visible, but not obtrusive, not obvious, not to be held liable. It wasn't like Mycroft wanted his sister to be blamed – for lack of a better word – but it was better than him, better than lowering his brother's already atrocious opinion of him. Sherlock's trust, though fleeting, came in handy every once in a while, and Dr. Watson's trust became even more so with each passing day, so it seemed.

"Surprise!" everyone shouted, starting with Lily and ending with grandma Molly and grandpa Arthur. Mycroft kept his peace and saved his voice.

Sherlock frowned disdainfully, but Mycroft couldn't help but notice how his first instinct was to glance at John, make sure he had not suffered from the "surprise," if it could be called one. Mycroft didn't miss the doctor's slight smirk at the attention, either. The greetings commenced. Everyone wanted a word with the "birthday boy" and no one seemed to feel like waiting. Mycroft didn't care either way. He waited at the edge of the crowd as it slowly moved forwards and dispersed. The people gradually refiled the room with more of an even spread and eventually Mycroft made it to his brother.

"Sherlock, happy birthday." he wore his most pleasant smile.

Sherlock had obviously decided not to dignify this with a response, not like Mycroft was genuinely surprised.

"Dr. Watson, nice to see you." Mycroft continued, not wanting to harbor any uncomfortable silences.

"Er... Nice to see you too, I guess." John replied. This time, it was Sherlock's turn to smirk.

Mycroft laughed a fake little laugh "Of course, of course. Brother dearest, do reconsider. I can assure you it'll be far from boring, at the very least."

"_We_'re not doing it." Sherlock insisted, he sounded almost bored.

Mycroft could see all the signs of irritation; Sherlock was looking away from him, rather pointedly, his mouth kept twitching, as if he was barely containing some emotion, most telling, was how his entire body had clenched. Mycroft nodded and left without another word. Pressing his brother would obviously get him nowhere. As he walked away, Mycroft barely heard John murmuring something in Sherlock's ear.

Mycroft returned to the crowd, flitting past, he heard snatches, little snippets of conversation, nothing of note, really. What he needed to do was find Aunt Hermione. He spotted her across the room talking to Uncle George. Mycroft made his way over to them.

"James! How are you?" Uncle George exclaimed, upon noticing him.

"Well enough, thank you. And you?"

Uncle George grinned, "Great, the joke shop is thriving!"

"That's good to hear." Mycroft turned to his aunt, "Aunt Hermione, a word?"

"Of course." she followed him into a less busy hallway, where they were less likely to be overheard and could hear each other better, "What is it?"

"I've been trying to get Sherlock to agree to it, but he's too worried about Dr. Watson. If I talked to both of them, I might be able to pull it off, but at this point, it's not looking to our advantage." he explained.

His aunt frowned, "I can't say that was unexpected, but it would help the cause... Would they go for it if you could somehow get the sentence reduced?"

"That is a possibility, I'd have to pull some strings, but it is definitely a possibility."

"Well-"

"Hermione, there you are, dinner's about to start." Uncle Ron interrupted.

Mycroft followed them to the table. He found himself between Uncle Percy and grandpa Arthur. There was a toast. John had somehow convinced Sherlock to accept it and remain standing. They all sat. Lily waved her wand and dishes appeared on trivets all throughout the table.

She had really outdone herself; there was stew and fish and chicken and salad and meat pies and some heavy sauce. It all smelled delicious, and no doubt tasted just as good, taste is primarily determined by scent, after all, but Mycroft was on a diet, so he just sampled some of everything, and decided what to eat more of from there. He was trying to decide how much stew he should take for seconds when the smell of desert wafted in from the kitchen. Mycroft let his eyes close to better absorb the scent. He decided that was enough for seconds and quickly finished them off.

Everyone else was busy talking amongst themselves and eating, so Mycroft was left to eat in relative peace. It was nice, he was used to not talking much, anyone who spent a fair bit of their time at the Diogenes Club had to be. It wasn't the silence he was used to, but the homogeneous sound of conversation was comforting in an odd sort of way. Dinner came to an end and everyone made their way to the living room for presents before desert.

Most people hadn't brought presents. Lily had forgotten to mention them entirely, Mycroft would have requested that no one bring them, but the party was Lily's idea in the first place, so it was her decision. Sherlock looked on edge. John must have refused to let him leave the room during dinner, and it seemed Sherlock was regretting his decision to listen, more with each passing moment. Once everyone had entered the living room, Lily called for silence.

First, Lily handed Sherlock a box accompanied by a note from grandpa Arthur and grandma Molly. He tore it open to find one of grandma Molly's famous sweaters. After some nudging from John, Sherlock thanked them with a smile so obviously fake, Mycroft was surprised no one called him out on it. Then came mum and dad, who gave him some potions ingredients. Sherlock thanked them genuinely, without prodding. He had obviously needed the supplies, and it wasn't like he was going to take John on a date to Diagon Alley.

There was a pause, all eyes turned towards him, following some cue from Lily. Obviously it was Mycroft's turn to give his brother something.

"I must apologize, I showed up empty handed. There is something in the mail that you should find worth appreciating." Mycroft explained.

"Don't tell me it's more clothes." Sherlock replied, his eyes had fallen shut, his fingertips were pressed together.

John glanced at his partner, considered reprimanding him, and then decided that it wasn't worth it, Sherlock had suffered enough for the evening.

"Good guess, but it wouldn't be as fun if I told you, would it?" Sherlock and John had been the only ones to detect the slight threat to Mycroft's otherwise harmless jest.

"No, of course not." Sherlock replied, he didn't bother hiding the sarcasm in his statement.

"Now it's my turn!" Lily interrupted, a wide grin stretched across her face.

"First," Mycroft smirked, "Dr. Watson, I assume you brought something."

The doctor blushed, but it was far from obvious and his voice remained steady, not like Mycroft had expected any different from the man, "I believe I'll wait until Sherlock's actually birthday, if you don't mind, of course." he glanced at Sherlock – how sweet.

Sherlock smiled, genuinely this time, "Not at all."

"My turn now?" Lily asked again, just as eager as before, if not more so.

Silence fell and everyone turned towards her.

"Here." she handed Sherlock a simple, large brown envelope.

Sherlock opened it with a sort of delicacy and pulled out two sheets of paper. First, he read the letter, and then the roll of parchment that accompanied it. John read both over Sherlock's shoulder, but only a little ways down the first sheet, John excused himself and left for the bathroom. It was obvious he could barely keep a straight face and stop himself from laughing.

Mycroft's attention was brought back to his brother when Sherlock uttered a simple "No."

On the surface, he seemed as impatient and bored as ever, but Mycroft could see, beneath it all, his brother was panicking. It was something bad, very bad, then, something probably related to John, particularly from the way he was staring at the staircase John had just ascended.

"Albus," it was their mother, her voice was stern, reprimanding, "Don't be mean to your sister. It can't be that bad."

"It's an application for a 'wizard to witch matchmaking' service." Sherlock replied, as if it was something so obviously reprehensible he wasn't quite sure whey he was being asked.

Mycroft understood his brother's predicament well enough. He could have been more tactful, but that was Sherlock. It also happened to be the perfect opportunity for Sherlock to come out to the family, there wasn't any media, but someone would let it leak. Sadly, Mycroft could tell that letting anyone in the wizarding world know was far from his brother's mind.

"That's not that bad, is it?" their mother replied, "A few dates could do you good."

"Mum, I can't!" Sherlock insisted.

Mycroft couldn't help but feel bad for his brother. He made a mental note to look into that and fix it, feeling bad for people was a luxury he could not afford to have.

"And why not?"

"I- I'm married to my work." it was a lame excuse, and Sherlock knew it, "I have a life of my own and I don't need some idiot," he glared at Lily, "interfering in it."

"Albus!" Sherlock was going to get it now, "Apologize to your sister this instant. You will accept her present. It might do you some good."

"I apologize." Sherlock let out reluctantly, his eyes focused on the ground.

Only Mycroft could see the sadness, amidst Sherlock's reluctance. Suddenly, Sherlock turned to Mycroft, his eyes shone with a sort of wild desperation, mixed with pure hatred.

His voice dripped with poisoned honey, "James, I would hate to deprive you of such a wonderful opportunity, especially after your divorce."

"I'm sorry, I just can't accept. I'm a very busy man, no time." Mycroft hastened to reply.

Their mother interrupted, "No, that's a great idea, Albus, you can both go. I think it'd be a good experience for both of you." Her voice held a slight hesitation at agreeing with Sherlock's ambiguous intentions, but Mycroft could tell she wasn't going back down, not after she had said something.

"Of course, mother." Mycroft replied, his voice perfectly clipped and polite.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't believe it. It was done, game over, this was the end of his and John's relationship, and all it had taken was one _stupid_present from his _stupid_ sister to ruin it all. John would be furious, and Sherlock couldn't say he blamed him. Sherlock didn't know much about relationships, that was all too true, but he knew that one of the first rules of an "exclusive relationship" was keeping it exclusive. That meant no dating, kissing, hugging, having sex with, or doing any of the like with anyone else. And this definitely classified as a date, with the intent of finding a permanent partner, none the less.

Sherlock was in an almost zombie-like state for the rest of the evening, never really conscious of what he was doing. He followed the crowd, did what was expected of him, took the path of least resistance. All the while, his mind was racing, he needed some way out of this, some way to make John understand that it was all against his will, that he was still trustworthy... He saw Mycroft's almost pitying looks and glared back.

John didn't return to the table for twelve minutes. Once he was back, he avoided Sherlock's eyes like the plague. Of course, Sherlock couldn't say he was surprised, John had to be so angry with him... Dessert finished and Sherlock and John made their way outside to catch a cab. It was then that John finally looked Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock kept his focus on the ground, he couldn't meet John's gaze and see the anger he knew he would find there.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked.

No reply.

John stopped in his tracks and forced the stubborn detective to look him in the eyes "Sherlock. What's wrong?"

"I-" even in such dire circumstances, Sherlock had to work to get out an apology, and the less proud half of him, the one concerned with not losing John, cursed his pride, but eventually he did manage to say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about that damn gift, I don't want to go on dates with _other_ people, but I don't have another choice. And I- I'm sorry for breaking your trust-"

His speech was cut off by riotous laughter from John.

"You're not mad at me..." Sherlock replied, half surprised, half suspicious.

Eventually John's laughter died down and he managed to reply, "No, I'm not mad at you." he kissed the detective on the lips for emphasis.

"Why?"

"Because I trust you. You're not going to run off with any of them. I'm more worried that you'll drive them to tears. Which you better not do. You have to be nice, and a proper gentleman." John laughed.

"But John..." Sherlock replied, laughing as well.

"Be nice. Show them a good time. Maybe you can even invite one over for dinner so I can meet your new friend."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin.


	2. Find Me a Find

Author's Note: I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

**Chapter 2: Find Me a Find**

Mycroft left the party at a similar rate to that of his brother. He bid everyone hurried farewells and returned to his office for an evening of talking to several people and getting nowhere with any of them. It was almost dawn by the time he decided to close his computer and get a few hours of sleep. He stood and stretched and made his way down to the car. It took him to the apartment he had lived in for ages. There he quickly went to sleep.

For the next week he continued work as usual. He got up whenever the first person called him, talked to a variety of people, ordered missions, negotiated deals, synthesized information, and it went on. Eventually the calls winded down, the conferences ended and Mycroft finished up the work for the evening. Only then, at some hour most would label as absurd, was he able to return home and sleep for a few hours before the next morning's first calls came in.

Ever so often, he took some time off, but that didn't happen much, and even when it did, he was always on call. He didn't go places much, how he despised "leg work," most meetings were held over the computer, if not in his highly secure quarters, but someone was always calling with some international crisis or another. For several days, Mycroft didn't have the time to write up his reply to the matchmaking service, but eventually he did get around to it.

It was a scroll of parchment. The header read "Meet your Match!" with a subtitle of "Find the witch or wizard of your dreams without any of the hassle." Instructions followed, he had to answer a series of personal questions and attach a photograph. He took out his favorite fountain pen, and began.

"Personal:" was the first category, the first question was, "What is your (full) name?" how original...

"James Sirius Potter" he wrote on the line below.

Next question: "How old are you?"

"Thirty-seven (37)"

"Are you male or female (circle one)?"

He circled male, of course, though circling female might have been amusing... But this was the wizarding world, and he had a reputation to keep, unlike his brother, so male it was.

"What is your wand wood, length and core?"

"I am a squib and therefore lack a wand." he replied.

"Where do you live currently?"

Mycroft wrote out his address.

"Where are you from?"

"London, England."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I work under the Minister of Magic." he replied, giving his standard answer to the question, though he decided it might be best to add on "I spend long hours at work, and can be called in at any time."

"What is your magical linage?"

"Pure blood squib." Mycroft replied disdainfully, it really was a shame they still needed to put that question in.

"What school did you go to? If you attended a school with houses, what house were you in?"

"See above."

"Do you have an owl?"

"No." was his reply.

The next category was labeled as "Lifestyle:" with the first question of "Do you smoke?"

After a bit of thought, Mycroft decided a simple "No." would suffice. He used to, but that was irrelevant.

"Do you drink?" came next.

Mycroft answered, "Not to excess."

"Do you work out?"

Irrelevant, was Mycroft's gut response, but he decided an answer of "No." would suffice yet again.

"Are you religious? Do you attend services?"

"No."

"Do you have your own transportation? If so, what?"

"Ministry supplied cars."

"Do you eat meat?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any pets? If so, what kind?"

"No."

"Do you have any children? If so, how many? What ages?"

"No." Mycroft almost laughed at the question, as in he raised one eyebrow sceptically before moving on.

And then came the next category "About You:" question one was, "What is the first thing you do when you get up in the morning?"

Most people probably had to think about it, by Mycroft was rather more self conscious than that, so it was obvious, "I check for any missed calls and then for any new emails. I answer them in order of priority and then shower, get dressed so long as I am not interrupted by a phone call."

"What is your favorite book of all time?"

Mycroft weighed the options, between different presidents' books, a variety of classics, and decided on the irony of choosing "1984"

"What is your favorite song?"

For that he decided on a movement of Vivaldi's that few of the others had probably ever heard of. When he reflected on it, Mycroft was genuinely surprised by just how consuming this as good as mindless activity could be, but it shouldn't have been surprising, it was only human nature to enjoy speaking of oneself.

He turned his focus back to the questionnaire and read, "What would your ideal meal consist of?"

Mycroft reflected for a moment, it was odd, this question had him without an answer. He ate whatever was served, or was the most healthy. The only food he was quite confident he _liked_ was chocolate cake, but that wasn't exactly food... In the end he decided to write "I do not have much in the way of favorites, but my ideal desert would include chocolate cake."

The next question was "Describe your dating history."

Mycroft sighed, of course, he would have to explain about Mary at some point in this exercise, he would just keep it simple and to the point; "I never did much in the way of dating. Eleven years ago, I married, but it ended in a divorce five years later due to a variety of factors. I have not dated since."

"What are the chances you would start talking to a random stranger?"

"It depends on if they spoke to me first, if I recognized them, or if they had any relation to someone I know. If not, I would leave them be, otherwise, depending on who they were, I might speak with them."

"What is the first thing people notice when they walk into your home?"

"That it is tidy."

"When are you happiest?"

Another hard one, Mycroft would have said the question was completely irrelevant, but this was dating, so he supposed it was. But happiest, really? When it came down to it, Mycroft didn't bother with happiness, he bothered with getting the job done. Maybe it was when he was averting some sort of international disaster, but he was a "minor government official" so that didn't fit. Happiness was irritatingly subjective.

"I am happiest when in charge of a situation from the comfort of my own home." he ended up writing, though it wasn't fully accurate.

Next; "What was your favorite class at school?"

More favorites, what was the point? Dating, of course, so stupid, this was why he didn't date. "Politics." he pulled from thin air. It wasn't true exactly, but again, he lacked much in the way of favorites, so he went with the one that fit best with his occupation, at least.

"What would you say are your greatest qualities?"

"I am organized and dedicated. I never get overwhelmed, can keep a secret easily, have high self-esteem, am highly intelligent, observant and can draw accurate conclusions about someone from a single glance. I can take in a lot of information at once and come to an educated conclusion that will almost always be accurate and/or effective." Mycroft didn't need a second of thought to answer the question.

Then came the next category; "About Them:" this was going to be even worse, Mycroft could tell from the first question, which read, "What is your 'type'?"

Mycroft didn't exactly have a 'type,' he supposed he had basic qualifications for who he could be interested in and who he couldn't, but he didn't have a 'type' so to speak. That would have to suffice. "They must be intelligent and patient, with a flexible schedule, or at least the very least be able to handle my busy work schedule. They also must be amenable with me taking calls and being forced to leave in the middle of a date for work, with minimal questions asked. They can not be sensitive and must be able to stand large family gatherings as well as the quiet I need to function properly." Mycroft could have gone on, but he decided against it.

"What is your idea of funny?"

Of course, the humor question, he supposed most people did want a date with a sense of humor, but what did Mycroft Holmes find funny? That wasn't something he usually had to think about.

He came up with, "A good wit, sharp tongued and sarcastic, but something requiring intelligence."

"Who would your ideal date be? It can be as outlandish as is honest."

This was another one of those odd questions. What was the real point in going to extremes when it wasn't realistic. Mycroft answered all the same, writing, "A genius with the patience of a saint, who can accept that there are some questions I can't answer. Can easily go from the wizarding world to the muggle one and back."

"What would they look like?"

"In good shape, takes care of themselves, dresses well, but on the conservative side, nothing absurd."

"What was the best date you have ever been on like?"

Mycroft though for a moment before replying, good dates... Finally something came to mind, "On one of my earlier dates with my ex-wife, she took me to a garden in the city. We had a pick-nick and just spent the entire afternoon strolling around. It stormed in the middle of the afternoon and we had to run home, though we both still got soaked." Mycroft felt himself getting sentimental, that was a problem, but it was too late for that, he wasn't about to cross it all out, the paper probably prevented you from removing anything you wrote.

After a moment spent fully composing himself, Mycroft returned to the paper and read the next question, "What was your worst date like?"

This time something easily sprung to mind "It was towards the end of my relationship with my ex-wife, we went out to a restaurant, as we hadn't done in a while. We ended up in an argument and she left if a huff. I finished the meal on my own, paid and left for home. She moved out not long afterwards." This time Mycroft's expression remained its usual, icy, bored almost. There was a reason Moriarty had labeled him as "Iceman." Sherlock was probably the only would would have been able to see the limited emotion behind his stony expression, and even then, it was questionable.

"What would you hope to have in common with a potential partner?" was the next question.

"Intelligence. A wide variety of interests. Relative unfazability. An ability to keep one's mouth shut."

"In what ways would you hope they differ from you?"

"I hope that they are more understanding and have an interesting difference of experiences."

"What is the worst reason for which you've ever broken up with someone?"

"I have never broken up with anyone." he was going to finish it with that, but that seemed to be cheating, not like he usually minded a slight stepping outside the rules, but under the circumstances, it only seemed fair, so he added on, "I have turned someone down because they laughed unusually." It was not his finest movement, but Mycroft had been 7 at the time.

"What features or characteristics would normally rule someone out as a dating possibility?"

"Bad manners, an inability to keep secrets or not ask questions, stupidity."

"Do you have any favorite restaurants, dietary needs, favorites or dislikes we should take into account?"

"None."

At the bottom of the scroll there was a note, "Attach at least one photograph of yourself. Feel free to get creative, though nothing explicit will be permitted."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that last bit. It was rather sad that they had to include that, not like he was remotely surprised. He fished one of his more recent pictures from his desk and put it inside the scroll of parchment. He then re-sealed the scroll and put it aside for the next time he went to the post office on Diagon Alley.

* * *

A few weeks later, Mycroft arrived in Diagon Alley for his date. He was ten minutes early, a bit late by his standards, but it would do. A glance around the French restaurant that had been chosen, told him his date had yet to arrive, so he took a chair by the door and waited, taking the chance to finish answering his emails.

Three quarters of an hour passed before the door swung open, and in ran a witch. Her long, brown hair was in a disheveled bun; her robes and cloak were thoroughly soaked – she must have apparated in. Mycroft hid a disdainful expression, put away his phone and forced himself to his feet, to greet the woman. She was Cassandra Wilde, the equivalent of a prosecutor, working for the Wizengamot. He recognized her from the Ministry, though they had never really met before.

"Pleasure to meet you." he extended a hand for her to shake.

She didn't miss a beat, "James Potter, is it? I'm Cassandra Wilde." she shook his hand, "Nice to meet you. Sorry I'm late, there was a bit of a hold up in Hogsmeade."

He raised an eyebrow when she didn't continue, but was interrupted before he could comment.

"Follow me." the maitre d' gathered some menus and led them through the restaurant to a small table in the back.

The nearest people were several tables away. She was good at her job, it was the ideal location for a date. Mycroft pulled out the chair for his date before seating himself across from her. There was a moment of silence that Mycroft supposed was awkward, as they just sat there, avoiding looking at each other directly. He found it to be a silly ordeal, himself, but who was he to protest?

"So..." Miss Wilde broke the silence hesitantly, "What brings the son of Harry Potter on a blind date?" she ended with a smile.

"A present." Mycroft replied simply.

"Oh..." she sounded slightly disappointed, but forged on all the same, "I suppose I just got tired of being single."

Mycroft nodded, feigning attention.

"What do you do for a living then?" she tried again.

"A minor position under the Minister of Magic." he waved it off, "You?" he supposed it was time he actually contribute to the conversation.

She smiled with relief at the end of the awkwardness, "I'm an investigator for the Wizengamot."

"Really? And I assume that was why you were at Hogsmeade."

"Yeah, I'm working on the Ryan case." she explained.

Mycroft nodded, "Have you found anything." he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I can't tell you that." she laughed.

"Very well." that was good, she could keep a secret.

What was he thinking? This was just to keep his relations with the family bearable, he was not looking to repeat the disaster that was his relationship with Mary. His slight smile turned into a sharp frown.

She cocked her head, "Is something wrong."

"Nothing at all." he gave his most charming fake smile.

Miss Wilde didn't seem too convinced, but she didn't press the issue – very few people had the gift of knowing when to stop- No! He was not looking for romantic options. – instead she picked up the drink list and changed the topic with a smile, "Any suggestions?"

Mycroft took the list from her and glanced down it, "Different wines go with different types of food," he explained, "It depends on what we're going to eat."

She nodded and picked up her menu, "How do the crepes sound?" she suggested, after a few moments of flipping through it.

Mycroft turned to the correct page. They all sounded delicious, but he was on a diet again. "What about the ratatouille?" he recommended.

A few more minutes of discussion and they came to a compromise of a ratatouille crepe and the bouillabaisse – a type of French fish stew. Mycroft picked out a wine that Miss Wilde didn't recognize. The waiter came and left, before they were left alone once more. He poured them each some wine, and they each took a sip in silence.

A moment passed before she remarked, "This is surprisingly good..."

Mycroft waved it off.

"I suppose taste in wine comes from working with the Minister of Magic?" she joked.

"I suppose." he couldn't help but smile slightly, even though it wasn't his usual taste in humor. "What school did you go to?" he asked.

"Hogwarts," she grinned, "I was in Gryffindor. You?"

"Cambridge." he replied.

She gave him a puzzled look.

"A muggle university."

"Oh, I forgot. You're a squib, right?"

"Yes." he said curtly.

"Sorry..." her apology was awkard.

"It is not your fault." he said with a frown, "People are not expected to remember the details of my life."

A moment passed before it hit her that he was joking. She smiled, "I hope not. So, what's muggle school like?"

"Rather interesting." he went on to explain as she listened avidly, asking frequent questions.

The food came, brining with it a shift of the topic to tastes in food – they decided what to have for dessert – which turned into a discussion of family, Hogwarts houses, politics, work and the Great War. Just as they were finishing up their meal, Mycroft's cell phone rang.

"I apologize, I have to take this." he pulled out his phone and sure enough, it was the Prime Minister of Greece on the other end.

He gave Miss Wilde, or Cassandra, as she insisted on being called, a quick explanation that he had to go, and walked out the door talking on his cell phone in Greek.


	3. Catch Me a Catch

Author's Note: I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

**Chapter 3: Catch Me a Catch**

Mycroft got into the car and spent the rest of the ride arguing with the Prime Minister of Greece. The call finally came to an end and he returned home for a quick night's sleep. The next morning was busy, but by one in the afternoon, it had quieted down enough for him to set off for his brother's Baker street residence; they needed to have a talk. He got out of the car and made his way into his brother's rooms. He let himself in to find Sherlock and Dr. Watson sitting in their respective chairs, talking. Dr. Watson turned when he heard the door open.

"Sherlock, it seems we have company." the doctor remarked dryly.

Sherlock turned and saw Mycroft standing there, looking smug as ever, "What do you want?" he demanded.

"I need to talk to both of you." Mycroft announced.

Sherlock stood with a shout of, "Not this again, I told you, we're not doing it!"

"Not doing what?" John interrupted.

Sherlock was about to say something, but Mycroft put up a hand, signaling him to stop, and to his relief his brother fell silent. He explained to John, "I would like both of you to 'come out', so to speak, to the family."

"What? Why?" John demanded, he knew the potential consequences.

Mycroft sighed in exasperation, "It will draw attention to the issue and force things to move in the right direction." he explained, "If it comes to it, I can have Lily perform a Fidelius Charm."

Sherlock frowned and said to his brother, "I assume you would be the secret keeper?"

John was officially lost.

"It is up to you. If you agree to it, of course."

"Of course." Sherlock turned to John suddenly, "What do you think?"

There was a pause before John replied, "If it's okay with you, I think we should go for it. We'll both be in danger, but since when has that ever changed anything?"

"I thought so." Mycroft replied with a slight smirk.

Both Sherlock and John glared at him for the unwanted interruption. Still, Sherlock turned to his brother and said, "We'll do it."

"Good. I'll tip off Ms. Skeeter. Will dinner on Saturday night do? I'll have to tell dad in advance."

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance and both nodded.

* * *

As much as his sons seemed to think it, Harry Potter was not a foolish man. It was true, he wasn't brilliant, not remotely to the extent that they were, but he wasn't stupid either. He tended to notice when something was not as it seemed. So, of course he had noticed that there was something a bit off to his younger son's relationship with one Dr. John Watson. They didn't seem like friends, they seemed like a couple.

A talk with Hermione had just confirmed the notion. Albus's reaction to the present from his sister, was just icing on the cake, so to speak. He knew better than to mention it to anyone else. Chances were James already knew, but even if he did know, he wasn't going to get anything out of his older son, unless said older son wanted to say it. He had considered brining it up to Ginny, at least, but he wasn't sure what to say, or when to say it, for that matter.

Harry didn't have a problem with his son's orientation, he had been raised by muggles after all, and Dr. John Watson was a perfectly pleasant young man who seemed to do Albus some good. He was just worried about it coming out, as he supposed any father would be. It would also put the rest of the family under scrutiny, that the younger generation didn't need. Just like Harry had tried to protect his children from his fame, he wanted to protect the rest of the family from the backlash that would occur.

A knock sounded at the door. He glanced at the clock. It was nearing eleven, a bit late for someone to be visiting on a Monday night. All the same, he stood and answered the door. He found James standing on the stoop, finishing up a call on a cellphone.

"Yes, I understand, I'll tell the Prime Minister. Now, I really must be going." pause, "Yes, of course, good day." James closed his phone with a click.

Harry raised an eyebrow at his son.

"Good evening, sorry for coming by so late." James said, easily avoiding the topic of the phone call he had just been on.

"No problem. Come in. Do you have a specific purpose or just visiting?" he asked with a smile as he led his older son inside.

They sat across from each other in the living room. Harry called Kreature for two butterbeers and turned back to James, "I take it there's something in particular you have to say?"

James nodded, "You could say that." he grimaced, "Could we have privacy?"

It was then that Kreature returned. They each took the offered drinks, Harry opened his and took a sip, while James just opened the bottle and put it on the table for the time being.

Harry then pulled out his wand, "Muffliato." he muttered under his breath, before putting away his wand and saying, "Go on."

"As you have probably guessed, Albus and John are a couple." James began.

Harry wasn't surprised, but there was still something about it being said aloud, that made it more definite, he took a sip of butterbeer. But there were more important matters, especially if this was coming from James. "Did he tell you to tell me this?" he asked.

"I have his permission. He plans on coming out to the family at dinner on Saturday, if you will invite him and John."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"The intent is to bring up the issue and draw attention to it. They both know the risks and have agreed to it. I believe it will help push the situation in the right direction. I will attempt to get them a shortened sentence if it comes to that, and we can put their house under a Fidellius Charm, if it proves necessary."

"Who would be the secret keeper?" Harry asked warily, he knew all too well what happened if the secret keeper was anything less than trustworthy.

"I believe I will suffice. They agree." James added before his father could question it.

"You're willing to take responsibility if anything happens to Albus?"

James shrugged, "It's no different from usual."

"Very well, if they've agreed to it... I don't like it, but if you think it will help." Harry sighed, "Who do you want us to invite?"

"Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron should suffice. I will also send Ms. Skeeter to make sure it leaks."

"You have her under control?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned, "There's nothing I can do to dissuade you?"

James shook his head and stood to leave, "See you on Saturday night." he said, before walking out the door. He left a full bottle of butterbeer on the table.

Harry finished it with a quiet announcement of, "I need a drink." that was said more to himself than anyone else. All the same, Kreature appeared with a quiet pop.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes spent the remainder of the week busy with the various major and less major problems that made up his job. He wasn't exactly looking forwards to Saturday evening, but by the time it rolled around, he was relieved to actually be doing _something_ about anything, instead of just talking about doing something that never happened anyways. Mycroft knew he was the only one for his job, but sometimes he hated it with as much passion as he ever had for anything.

He had gotten an owl from Cassandra Wilde inviting him to a second date on next Friday night and, possibly against his better judgment, he had accepted. He supposed it was for the best that Sherlock had yet to sign up for the blind date, but there was a lingering feeling that he had been short-changed by it all. He sighed. There were more important things to deal with.

If they ended up using a Fidelius Charm someone would need to deal with Ms. Hudson and set up an alternate location where Sherlock could meet with clients, but was Sherlock's problem, not his, thank goodness. Something that wasn't his problem... How often did that happen? Even when something seemed to be someone else's problem, it usually ended up being his.

The car rolled up in front of Number 12 Grimauld Place. From a glance inside, he could tell that Sherlock was already there, though Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron were not. Mycroft got out of the car and walked inside. Lily greeted him exuberantly, while Sherlock merely frowned and nodded. His expression said bored, but his fidgeting said otherwise. Dr. Watson, who was talking to him, looked perfectly fine. That his hands weren't shaking was the only sign of the pressure he was under.

"Good evening." Mycroft announced.

"Good evening." Dr. Watson replied, hand extended. He had somehow managed to drag himself away from whatever conversation he was having with Sherlock.

"Don't let me interrupt." Mycroft replied with a smug, knowing smile.

He was about to continue when their mother entered the room, obviously irritated.

Mycroft could swear he heard her muttering something that sounded like, "Should have told me..." under her breath.

Suddenly she noticed her three children – and John – and her expression turned into a smile, "Lily, why didn't you tell me the boys had arrived?" she didn't wait for an answer, "Good to see you, Albus, James," she hesitated, but her smile never lost its genuineness, "John. Come on, we don't want to leave all the work to Kreature."

With a bit of good natured grumbling, they made their way into the kitchen and set about setting the table.

The preparation soon finished, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron arrived. Greetings ensued and they made their way to the table. Dinner commenced in a hungry silence. Quiet conversation slowly came up and ended just as gradually. The meal soon finished. Mycroft noticed Sherlock's fidgeting increase and even his father started to fidget slightly. Dr. Watson seemed a bit on edge, but not too bad off. Aunt Hermione had noticed it too, he assumed she had her suspicions, but she hadn't said anything, yet.

Finally, Sherlock stood, "I have an announcement." he said.

Everyone listened with rapt attention. Dr. Watson made to stand, but Mycroft motioned for him to sit. This was Sherlock's announcement to _their_ family, Dr. Watson didn't need to be put in the line of fire as well.

"I suppose I shouldn't have kept this from the family for so long," he continued, "But now I feel I can't keep it from you all any more."

Sherlock was overdoing it a bit, but Mycroft supposed this whole announcement didn't really make much sense otherwise.

Finally, his brother seemed to get to the point, "John and I are a couple." but he didn't seem to be done yet, "And, if John will have me, engaged."

Mycroft frowned. The couple announcement had been enough, but Sherlock had always had a flair for the dramatic. This could mess things up, it put the stakes as higher, but it could help them... And then there was John's reaction. His expression said this was entirely unexpected. Damn it, why did Sherlock have to go over the top with this of all things?

All eyes were suddenly on John. The man hesitated before his expression broke into a grin.

"Sherlock, you have absolutely no sense of timing." he replied.

Sherlock shrugged, "I supposed it was as good a time as any..." he was hesitant, worried that John would say no.

Complete idiocy as Mycroft was concerned, but he supposed this was what it was to be young – relatively, at least – and in love.

"But," John continued his statement, "I accept."

Sherlock pulled a ring from nowhere and put it on John's finger. They hugged. Mycroft started to applaud, a steady slow clap. His expression, a rare genuine smile. After a moment of hesitation, Aunt Hermione joined in, followed by the rest.

"Welcome to the family." his mother was the first to speak.

She looked relatively unphased, good. That meant the only ones that didn't know in advance were Lily and Uncle Ron. Lily seemed mildly disappointed, but soon she seemed to get over it.

"Welcome to the family!" Lily stood and hugged her brother and brother-in-law to be, a wide smile across her face.

Aunt Hermione and his father congratulated them. The only wild card was Uncle Ron. Mycroft had been reluctant to include him, in the first place, but he needed Aunt Hermione to be there. It also would have been worse for him to hear second hand, let alone from the paper. His expression shifted from surprise, to mild disgust, to finally, resolve.

"Congratulations." he said, though he sounded unsure about it.

Mycroft felt a wave of relief wash over him, that was one hurdle passed over, at least. But his evening was far from over. The meal quickly came to an end. Everyone said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Mycroft got back in the car and retreated to his office. As expected, Rita Skeeter was already there waiting from him, she must have disapperated as soon as the meal had ended.

He sat down behind his desk while she stood in front of it, "You have something you want to talk to me about?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Your tip was right. What's the catch?" she demanded.

He went straight to the point, "You write your article, I look over it, you make _every_ change I recommend, and I make sure it gets published and you get paid. If you publish it without my approval, your life will become hell. Understood?"

"Fair enough..." she turned to leave.

He called out after her, "And do make it neutral, as scandalous as you like, but neutral."

She didn't bother to protest, instead opting to turn tail and leave.

That would be enough for the time being. Once the article was out, then they could deal with the backlash. If all else failed, Sherlock and John could move to Grimauld Place until a safe house was ready. He had done all he could for the time being. A tapping at the window heralded the arrival of the weekly owl from the Minister of Magic.


	4. Look Through Your Book

Author's Note: I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

**Chapter 4: Look Through Your Book**

As Mycroft Holmes knew well, ambiguous threats could be very effective, especially if they came from someone who had the power to carry them out and was known for doing just that. So, of course Rita Skeeter came to him before publishing her article. Mycroft edited it until it was as good as unrecognizable and she grumbled, but the changes were made. Mycroft looked through it one last time, before finally declaring it satisfactory.

The final result showed on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning:

_**SCANDAL: HARRY POTTER'S SON ADMITS TO HOMOSEXUALITY**_

By Rita Skeeter

_At a family dinner on Saturday night, Albus Severus Potter, son of Harry Potter, announced that he was gay and proposed to his longtime partner, a muggle by the name of John Watson. Albus Potter had only recently returned to the wizarding world, after running away to the muggle one, ten years ago. Harry Potter has yet to comment to the press, though at the time he congratulated his son on his engagement. - _continued pg 9

A photograph of Albus from his Hogwarts years, juxtaposed with a current photograph of him accompanied the article. How Ms. Skeeter had obtained them, was something Mycroft was confident he would rather not know. Not like that would stop him from finding out.

The first page was as much as most people would read, but it would suffice. The minister of magic should make an official statement within the next few days, as should the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If his father played his cards right, his official announcement would follow his personal endorsement of his son, and would be deferential to his superiors. If he could get Sherlock and John to send in a humanizing statement, that would be ideal, but they had already done their part, for the time being.

A tapping at the window alerted him to the arrival of an owl, it was his mother's. Of course, she had realized that he was behind it. He was tempted to send the owl to his brother and let him explain that he had agreed to it, but it was Mycroft's plan and therefore his job to explain. And if his mother had realized he was behind it, she had also probably realized he was working with Aunt Hermione, which meant she had also received a similar letter...

Mycroft shoved open the window and let the bird in. It landed on the perch and he took the letter from around its leg. He left the window open, expecting another owl at any moment, and sat down in his chair to begin reading:

_Dear James,_

_Why didn't you or your father tell me that you had Rita Skeeter covering dinner last night? You are in so much trouble! Both of you! And your father tells me that Albus agreed to this? If anything happens to him! I don't believe either of you! You could have at least told me!_

_Much love,_

_Mum_

Mycroft let out a sigh of irritation and set about replying:

_Dear Mother,_

_I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. Albus did agree to it, though I was the one who came up with the plan in the first place. We did not tell you because we agreed that it would be best to tell as few people as possible before hand so that it didn't seem staged. Albus's safety is our top priority and if anything happens I will take the blame, though I have a feeling that Dr. Watson will get to me before you do._

_Sincerely,_

_James S. Potter_

He sent the owl back to his mother just as another, his father's snowy owl, flew in the window. Mycroft considered just sitting by the window, with all the owls he expected to receive, but his chair belonged in front of his desk, not by the window, and he wasn't about to sit on the floor all day. He could move the perch to his desk, with a towel under it. Probably be the best option.

But first for his father's letter, he removed the letter from the bird's leg and returned his desk, scroll in hand:

_Dear James,_

_I've been receiving owls all morning asking for an interview about Albus's announcement. What course of action do you recommend? Also, I want to warn you, your mother is furious at us for concealing everything from her. She's already sent Hermione an owl and is sending you one as I write. I hope this will get to you before hers does, though it could go either way._

_Dad_

_Dear Father,_

_Just take the interview with the Prophet and congratulate Albus. Give him and Dr. Watson your blessing, or the like. The truth should suffice. As head auror, wait for the Minister of Magic to make his statement or owl you with what to say. I wouldn't want you to lose your job over this. I already received the owl from mum and sent a letter back explaining the situation. I hope that helps._

_Sincerely,_

_James S. Potter_

Mycroft stood once more and attached the role of parchment to his father's owl's leg. Then, before any other birds could arrive, he picked up the perch and set it on his desk, on top of a stack of old newspapers, all neatly folded to cover just the right amount of area. It was just in time too, because another owl flew in, this time from the Minister of Magic herself:

_Mr. James S. Potter,_

_Why did you permit Rita Skeeter to publish your brother's announcement? I thought you said you had her under control, unless you're trying to pressure me into action. If that is the case (as I am aware it most likely is), you must understand that I can't do anything without public support. I congratulate your brother on his engagement, but hope you know what you're doing. The law is the law, after all, and there is only so much that can be done. I speak for the entire Ministry of Magic when we say that we do not want your family as our enemy, but there is only so much that can be done with public opinion as it is. That said, I would like you to attend a meeting in my office tomorrow at 10am, sharp, with Ms. Robins, so that we can sort things out._

_Sincerely,_

_Cho Chang_

Minister of Magic

Mycroft couldn't say he was surprised by her approval, her husband – she had decided to keep her last name – happened to be a muggle with two mothers. It wasn't common knowledge, but nor were most things Mycroft knew. The official response was equally unsurprising. He took his time to compose a reply:

_Madame Minister,_

_I assure you; I have Ms. Skeeter under control and am prepared to take care of any and all backlash from my brother's announcement. I will pass on your congratulations. I understand your predicament and can confidently say that the family will think no less of you for what you must say and do. My father will make his personal statement in the Daily Prophet tomorrow and will wait for you to make his official statement. I am honored to attend the meeting._

_Sincerely,_

_James S. Potter_

As he finished his letter to the Minister of Magic, the flood of owls from the family began. Most would have gone directly to Sherlock, but by then they all knew he lived with muggles and that if they wanted to contact him, they were to do so through Mycroft. Everyone had fairly similar questions anyways, so he supposed it wasn't as bad as it could have been, though it was dull work.

"Is Albus okay?" they asked, "Is Rita Skeeter telling the truth?" Mycroft quickly replied to them. His responses were almost identical, hold a few variations here and there, depending on the individual.

He even read through Uncle Percy's essay of a letter and wrote a quick answer that amounted to saying he had the situation under control. Finally, he sent away the last owl, a reply to a letter of congratulations from Uncle Charlie. He was done. A feeling of relief washed over him and he took a moment to just breathe. Eventually, he picked up his phone and dialed Sherlock's cell phone number. No answer, not like Mycroft was surprised. Almost the instant he closed his phone, it rung with a text from Sherlock.

"I'm doing an interview with Aunt Hermione on Wednesday. - S" it read.

"Good. - M" Mycroft texted his reply with a frown.

His brother's refusal to just pick up the phone, was irritating as ever. Then again, when was Sherlock anything less than infuriating? Mycroft concluded, as he had done several times before, that Dr. John Watson had to have the patience of a saint.

After a moment he typed, "Both you and Dr. Watson are holding up fine? - M" and sent the message.

There was a long pause before the reply arrived, "Yes, thank you. - J"

"Don't you have better things to do? Wars to cause? Dates to go on? - S" followed almost immediately.

"It is thanks to me that you do not have to go on those dates. If you would like to, carry on, but otherwise, I recommend that you desist. - M"

Mycroft waited for a few minutes, but as expected, there was no reply. He glanced out the window. There were no owls in sight, just an endless expanse of grey clouds, interrupted only by the occasional bird or airplane that crossed it. His father and the Daily Prophet were probably dealing with the brunt of the backlash, but Mycroft was content to leave them to that. There was a reason he preferred to stay out of the public eye. Anyways, he had already wasted too much time that should have been spent doing his usual job.

* * *

The next morning was like any other. Mycroft woke up at an hour most would consider downright absurd, especially considering the time he went to sleep. He then checked his phone for any missed calls – there were none – and answered all the emails he had received that night. After a quick, cold shower and a small, light breakfast, he made his way out of his apartment. He left the building talking on his cell-phone with both the Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Defense and the United State's Secretary of Defense.

Still talking on the phone, he got into the Ministry supplied car, which took him to his office. The call lasted for an hour more, once he got there, until finally the Secretary of Defense, and then the Permanent Under-Secretary, hung up. He closed his phone with a loud click and turned to the latest issue of the Daily Prophet, folded neatly on his desk, as it was supposed to be.

The front page was adorned with a photograph of his father smiling at the camera an arm wrapped around the shoulders of a bored-looking Sherlock. The headline read, "HARRY POTTER SUPPORTS SON!" Mycroft unfolded the front page and set about reading:

_In an interview yesterday, Harry Potter claimed to stand by his son despite his homosexuality and even supports his son's decision to marry his partner. When questioned further, Mr. Potter explained that he has always found the sodomy laws to be outdated, citing the fact that many muggle countries legalized homosexuality a long time ago and some have even legalized marriage between so called, "same-sex couples." He said that he had done what any father would have and beseeches the rest of wizarding London to permit his son, and the countless others like him, to love whomever they choose._

_Harry Potter wasn't the only one to comment on Albus Potter's announcement. Hermione Granger, founder and head of WWASL, announced her support of her nephew's decision to "come out" to the family, in a press conference yesterday afternoon. She expressed her hope that the environment will soon be such that other, like minded, witches and wizards will feel comfortable doing the same. Minister of Magic, Cho Chang, said yesterday that she didn't want to be at odds with the Potter family and hoped they could come to some sort of agreement._

_But it was far from all well wishes for the couple. Yesterday, Demelza Robins, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, announced that they would be prosecuting Mr. Potter, as he had admitted to breaking a law..._

And it went on.

Mycroft read the article through, before flipping to the letters to the editor, what he had been most interested in seeing. The responses were mixed. Over half were adamantly against Sherlock, but there were some anonymous letters in support of him, and even a few that had been signed. Things were heading in the right direction that was for sure.

Then again, he wouldn't have put his plan in action, in the first place, if they weren't. He had only bothered because he had noticed things nearing the tipping point. Just because he didn't seem to care, didn't mean he wanted his brother – or John Watson for that matter – to be jailed on his account.

As soon as he finished looking through the paper – reading the articles that caught his attention and skimming the others – he glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. He spent the remaining 12 minutes answering the usual assortment of emails from the Queen herself, assorted underlings, and everyone in between.

* * *

Finally, the clock struck ten and he approached the fireplace in his office, specially connected to the floo network for just this sort of occasion. He threw in a pinch of floo powder and the flames turned a bright, emerald green.

"Minister of Magic's office." He announced, before stepping into the fire.

He closed his eyes as he began to spin downwards into the fire and beyond. The spinning stopped and he opened his eyes to find himself in the office of the Minister of Magic. The Minister herself sat behind her desk, talking to Ms. Demezla Robins, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Mr. Potter." Ms. Chang announced upon his arrival, "Just on time."

"Madame Minister." He greeted them each with a smile, "Miss Robins. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you." Demezla Robins stood and replied, shaking his hand.

The department head resumed her seat in front of the Minister's desk. The Minister pulled out her wand and summoned a chair for him. Once they were all seated, the meeting commenced.

"We believe that we have no other choice than to prosecute him," Cho Chang began, "The Department of Law Enforcement has a responsibility to uphold the laws, no matter who commits the crime. If there is enough of a backlash, Mr. Potter could be pardoned, if the Wizengamot doesn't acquit him on the grounds of it being an invalid law, but at this point, the latter is unlikely and the former could go either way. As Minister of Magic, I find it only fair to warn you that if you choose to go against us, we will have no choice but to prosecute you as an accessory to the crime."

Mycroft grimaced. This was not the result he had hoped for, though he had expected it. "What of Dr. Watson?" he asked.

"The muggle? He's not under the Ministry's jurisdiction. Though I recommend that he not try and interfere, we have already bended the Statute of Secrecy for him."

"I will do what I can to make sure he stays out of the way, though I warn you, he will not let this go without a fight."

"Do what you must, or we will be forced to obliviate him."

"Very well." Mycroft replied and turned to Ms. Robins, "Is there anything that can be done about the sentence?"

"A maximum of two years is your final offer." was her answer.

Mycroft sighed. Apparently, this was just an informational meeting; everything had already been decided before his arrival, everything except the verdict and public opinion.

"That is all. I will send out the order to have him arrested this afternoon." The Minister of Magic said.

He knew a dismissal when he heard one and did as he was told. This was not a battle worth fighting. All the same it was not without a hint of reluctance that Mycroft Holmes bid them both goodbye, and announced, "221B Baker street." before stepping into the emerald green flames in the fireplace. He found his brother's flat empty. A single sweeping glance around the place told him that Sherlock and Dr. Watson were busy with cases. He sat down in the extra chair by the fireplace and returned to checking his emails on his phone, expecting a long wait.

Hours ticked past until finally, Mycroft heard his brother's even footsteps on the stair. The door opened and Sherlock strode over to him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Mycroft finished the important email he was working on, before he even looked up at his younger brother, an eyebrow raised. Eventually he stood and explained, "I was just in a meeting with the Minister of Magic."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he forged on all the same, "What did she have to say that was so important?"

Mycroft was about to speak when a knock sounded at the door.


	5. And Make Me a Perfect Match

Author's Note: I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

**Chapter 5: And Make Me a Perfect Match**

There was another knock at the door.

"Come in." Sherlock called out. Mycroft was probably the only one who could hear the hint of hesitation in his younger brother's voice.

The door opened to reveal their father, accompanied by a team of aurors. "Albus Severus Potter, you are under arrest for sodomy." Their father announced. He was obviously reluctant, but his voice was clear as he delivered the line.

Sherlock didn't even hesitate; he turned to his older brother, his expression betraying barely controlled anger. "This is the important matter you were referring to?" he sneered.

Mycroft merely nodded, "They have no jurisdiction where Dr. Watson is concerned, so he will be safe. But be warned, they are willing to obliviate him if he interferes."

"You know, he's going to kill you for this." Sherlock remarked nonchalantly, though his expression betrayed his concern for his fiancé.

"It is my fault you're being taken in the first place; I will inform Dr. Watson and take the blame."

"You? Willingly taking the blame for something? That is a first." He taunted.

"Boys, this is not the time." Their father interrupted, glancing between the two of them, before his gaze landed on his younger son, "I will post bail as soon as it is set."

"As long as you don't pose a flight risk." Mycroft added.

Sherlock glared at his brother before turning back to his father.

"Expeliarmus!" Harry Potter exclaimed, but nothing happened.

"I don't have a wand." Sherlock reminded him.

"Of course." Harry replied awkwardly, before leading his son outside, surrounded by a team of aurors, all with wands out, just in case.

Mycroft watched as they all piled into a ministry car and drove away. He was not looking forwards to informing Dr. Watson of what had happened, but it was what had to be done. With that, he sat back down and prepared for a long wait. The day turned into evening before Dr. Watson's heavy steps sounded on the stairs, betraying his exhaustion before he even entered the room. The door opened and Dr. Watson's expression fell. Still, he did not interrupt, as Mycroft finished up the phone call with a subordinate of his.

Dr. Watson was in the kitchen making tea when Mycroft's conversation ended. Mycroft stood and waited for him to return. He soon did, bearing a single mug of tea - he knew better than to offer Mycroft any.

"So, what brings you here?" the question was awkward and more than a little suspicious, but not entirely hostile, a fact that Mycroft could not help but appreciate, coming from _Sherlock_'s fiancé.

All the same, Mycroft replied without emotion, "I am sorry to inform you that Sherlock has been arrested-"

"What did you just say?" John interrupted, his eyes narrowed.

"Sherlock was just arrested." Again, Mycroft didn't get to finish what he was saying.

"You said nothing would happen to him!" John shouted, "You said you would make sure nothing happened to him! And now you've gotten him arrested!"

Mycroft replied, "Calm down, Dr. Watson. My father will post bail as soon as possible, and my dear brother will be returned to you."

"And what then?" John demanded.

"We will convince the Wizengamot-"

"The what?"

"The high court in wizarding England." He explained, and continued, "We will convince them that the law should be repealed." John was about to interrupt, but he forged on, "If that fails we will put pressure on the Minister of Magic until Sherlock is pardoned and the law is repealed."

"And if your plan fails?"

"He will be jailed for two years, and then you will be left alone as long as you stay away from the wizarding world."

"Fair enough." John replied, though he didn't look remotely satisfied.

There was a moment's pause before Mycroft collected his things and left. He called out "Fair well, Dr. Watson." as he walked out the door.

Mycroft shut the door behind him and John collapsed into his chair by the fireplace.

* * *

The next day's Prophet contained news of Sherlock's arrest and subsequent release on bail. Mycroft skimmed through it, but he had more important things to worry about. Tensions were mounting in the Middle East and he was trying to make sure things didn't get worse than they already were, or at least not much worse. The remainder of the week was spent in the muggle world arguing with heads of state from around the world.

Thanks to all the chaos in the muggle world, Friday night came around much too quickly, as far as Mycroft was concerned. He finished up the email he was working on and headed home early for a cold shower. The water pounded against his aching head, soothing him, as his mind fell into a comforting sort of numbness. But numbness never lasted long, not for him. Thoughts returned to his mind racing faster than ever.

Sometimes he wished the numbness would last, but that was a foolish thought. His intelligence was a gift with many uses, to even dream of giving it up for vague, _impractical_, numbness was pure idiocy. Moreover, there were much more important things to think of. Sherlock's trial, for one, for which they had been given a total of three weeks to prepare.

It was going fairly well, all things considered. Sherlock had not been endangered, so no Fidelius Charm was necessary. Dr. Watson and his mother were both angry at him, but they had been quieted for the time being. The Prophet was mainly focusing on other issues, though there were still opinion articles and letters to the editor being written on the topic. To his mild relief, there were almost as many positive as negative.

The shower soon came to an end and he was forced to finish preparing for his date that evening. Eventually, he made his way out of his apartment, and arrived at the restaurant to find Cassandra Wilde waiting for him. It was a relatively expensive muggle restaurant and she wore a knee-length sleeveless black dress to match. Mycroft couldn't help but note that it flattered her slightly pudgy figure.

She stood on his arrival and shook his hand before moving in for a hug. Mycroft found it rather awkward, but went with it all the same.

"I decided I might as well show up on time," she joked, as the maitre d' led them to their table.

Mycroft couldn't help but smile slightly. They took their seats, picked up the menus, and spent a few moments looking through them in silence. Dishes were recommended and eventually they decided on two to share. Mycroft chose the wine to match. They placed their orders and were left to their own devices, as far as conversation went.

"How have you been?" He asked cordially.

"Very well, thank you," Cassandra replied mock-seriously, but she couldn't keep a straight face. Instead she started to laugh.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her, but that just make her laugh even harder.

Eventually she quieted down and he tried again as if there hadn't been an interruption.

"Great! Work's been really busy, but I have been looking forwards to our date," she teased. "You?"

"The same, I suppose: very busy, but not in a negative sense." A sardonic smile crossed his face, but his expression quickly returned to its usual ambiguity.

"Busy with what?"

He replied simply, "Work."

"Ah..." She trailed off. "Oh! Why did you have to leave in such a rush last time?"

"An important phone call. I apologize for my abruptness, but my chosen profession can be very demanding. In fact, it usually is."

At this, she laughed, "You could say that again. There are a few big trials in the docket."

"I am aware."

"What is your job, anyways? I don't think you ever said..."

He waved it off, "A minor position in the muggle government, nothing of importance."

"Very demanding for 'nothing of importance,'" she joked.

"You would be surprised," he said with a smile.

"I suppose I would... Do you come to this place often?"

"Not really. I usually don't have the time to eat out."

"Really? I suppose it's your job, huh?" She asked with a mischievous grin.

"Yes, it is. You eat out often?"

"Yeah, I'm too busy to cook-"

The loud ring of Mycroft's phone cut her off. He snatched it from his pocket; on the other end was one of his subordinates.

"What is it?" He asked before she could say anything.

The woman on the other end replied with a string of numbers.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed, "One second." He turned to Cassandra, "I'll be right back; this is important."

With that he walked out of the restaurant. For half an hour he paced out front, talking on his phone. Finally the call ended and he returned to the table. He found Cassandra sitting there, poking at their food, which had long since arrived, and drumming the table impatiently.

"I'm sorry-" he began.

She cut him off, "This better be good."

"It was a call of much importance." he replied, head cocked arrogantly.

"Yeah, yeah. You know, this is the second time you've done that. If you're not interested, you should have just turned down the second date, or better yet, not signed up at all." She stood and prepared to leave.

Mycroft sighed; he hated drama, but he happened to have a job that required him to be on call at all times, no questions asked. It wasn't his fault that most people simply did not get that. But was it really worth losing someone who seemed to have so much potential? He watched her as she readied to go and began walking away. It tugged at his heart; was an issue that would be in the next day's paper really worth it? Did he trust her enough for a relationship to really work?

"Cassandra." He said simply. His voice carried, though he barely bothered to raise it.

"Yes?" She replied, barely deigning to look at him.

"I suppose I do have a few things to explain."

"You could say that." A slight, sarcastic smile crossed her face as she returned to sit across from him.

"Muffliato, if you don't mind." He said as soon as she was seated and relatively comfortable.

"Why can't you-"

"Squib, remember?"

"Of course. In a room full of muggles, though?"

"Just make sure they don't see your wand, it's not a very visible spell. It also happens that the fact that you were doing so on my orders makes it matter of national security and you will be spared any trouble."

At that she raised an eyebrow, but did as he requested.

"It must be a pain, not being able to do magic and all." she remarked.

He shrugged, "You want an explanation?"

"Of course." she replied with a nod, "I'd say you owe me an explanation."

"Fair enough. As you may have guessed, I am not just a minor official in the muggle government, but, as my younger brother often puts it, on occasion, I am the British government. That also applies to the Ministry of Magic." he explained, "Our first date was interrupted by a call from the Prime Minister of Greece, and the one just now was from a subordinate of mine about an attack by a member of Voldemort's Army on the Minister of Magic."

She took a moment to really take it all in. Finally, she replied, "Well, that explains it... Sorry about getting so mad at you, though you did owe me an explanation."

"I suppose I did." he smiled slightly, "Now, I recommend we turn our attention to our dinner, before it gets even colder."

Cassandra nodded in agreement and they descended upon the platters.

* * *

The date had gone quite magnificently, as far as Mycroft was concerned. He wasn't quite sure if that was good or bad, but things rarely were definite and it was foolish to pretend they were. He would like see Cassandra gain as soon as this whole affair had blown over, but until then, he had work to do. They exchanged the occasional owl, but neither had enough time for more than a few short paragraphs in a week.

Dr. Watson had texted him the next day with the date of Sherlock's trial. Mycroft hoped that Sherlock had been preparing ever since the arrest, but he wasn't about to be foolish about it, even with Dr. Watson undoubtedly attempting to push his brother in the right direction. It was with great reluctance that Mycroft set off for Baker street as soon as he was able – that Wednesday, as it turned out to be.

The ministry car slowed to a stop in front of his brother's flat. The back door swung open and Mycroft Holmes got out, umbrella in hand, though the sky was clear. He entered 221B Baker street without knocking and made his way up the stairs, into the messy living room. Sherlock and Dr. Watson were out, but he already knew that and was ready to wait as long as it took for them to return.

Suddenly his phone buzzed with an unexpected text.

"What are you doing in my flat?" it read, signed, "S"

Mycroft sighed, his brother must have set up some sort of intruder detection system. He disdainfully typed his reply, "I am waiting for you to return. - M"

"I'm aware of that. What I want to know is why? - S" Mycroft could see his younger brother rolling his eyes as he had typed out the message.

"I am here to assist you with preparing for your trial, in case you've forgotten about it. - M"

"Busy. In the middle of a case. None of your business. - S"

"You will be representing yourself - there are no defense lawyers in the wizarding world - I advise that you take every pain to prepare. - M"

There was no reply. Mycroft's expression curved into a frown and he reluctantly vacated his brother's apartment, with a quick goodbye to Ms. Hudson.


	6. Playing with Matches

Author's Note: I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

**Chapter 6: Playing with Matches a Girl Can Get Burned**

Sherlock never did get around to replying to the text, and Mycroft opted not to bother his brother further. It was his plan, and as such, his job to bail Sherlock out, no matter what happened. It could not hinge on whether or not the Wizengamot decided to repeal a law, based purely on a few hour's worth of testimony, if that. The weeks passed, filled with the assorted correspondences, reports, and orders that made up his day to day work. By the time the day of Sherlock's trial rolled around, he had talked to the Minister of Magic twice, to no definite result.

The publicity, that had died down after Sherlock gave his interview, picked back up. That morning's post contained a plethora of articles about the scandal from all different points of view, and there would only be more after the trial came to pass and the verdict was delivered. He was just finishing up the A section of the Daily Prophet, when he heard a tapping at his window.

Mycroft put aside the paper, and glanced up to find the familiar barn owl of Cassandra Wilde. He forced himself to his feet, and hauled open the window. The bird landed on the perch he had set aside for just that purpose. As the owl took water and food from the bowls on the windowsill in front of it, Mycroft untied the letter from it's leg and returned to his desk, the scroll of parchment in hand.

A smile managed to force its way across his mouth as he opened the letter and began to read:

_Dear James,_

_ I still can't believe you haven't been to a Quidditch game in so long! And your mum's the head of the Department of Games and Sports! If I can get tickets to the World Cup this year, I'll take you. It's only the greatest sport in the world, and a lot of fun to play! It's a shame you can't ride a broom, it's an amazing experience! One of the few things I miss about Hogwarts was being on the Quiddtich team. I've heard about a few interesting muggle sports, though they don't seem like your sort of thing._

_ I hope your work quiets down a bit, it sounds chaotic (even though I don't know any of the specifics, of course), not necessarily a bad thing, but still, too much is too much. I would write more, but you're not the only one who's been busy of late._

_Love,_

_Cassandra Wilde_

Mycroft pulled out a roll of parchment from one of the many drawers in his desk, took his favorite fountain pen in hand, and began to write:

_Dear Cassandra,_

_ Please excuse my brevity, with my brother's trial today, I have little time to write._

_ You must understand, I do not spend much time at my parents' home and haven't in quite some time. Quidditch has never interested me particularly, nor have any other sports, for that matter, as I have never had the physical or magical skill required to participate in them, and have been too busy with other pursuits to devote much time to observing them. That said, I would be honored to join you to the World Cup, and if you don't mind my assistance, would be willing to approach my mother about a pair of tickets._

_ I suppose you are correct, in that overworking oneself can cause problems, but when there is work to be done, one must work. I hope that you are not too strained by your work and hope to see you again soon._

_Sincerely,_

_James S. Potter_

With that, Mycroft put down his pen and rolled up the parchment. He forced himself to his feet once again, and attached the letter to the leg of the patiently waiting owl, before sending the bird on its way. With the distraction offered by the letter's arrival and writing a reply gone, the weight that came with his brother's upcoming trial made itself known.

He wasn't overcome by it, as a lesser, more emotional man – or woman – might be, but instead took it in stride as he took everything else. The outcome of the trial didn't _really_ matter. If Sherlock was acquitted, that just meant less work for him in the long run, but that was unlikely, at best. All the same, he felt what most would have experienced as a thrill of nervousness, nudging at the edges of his conscious. All the evidence was there, and the Wizengamot was not known for its mercifulness or being open minded. And he had promised that he would make sure nothing happened to his younger brother, and Sherlock was his responsibility.

He let out a long breath of air. What really mattered was convincing the Minister of Magic to pardon Sherlock. So it was all up to him, per usual. He just hoped that neither Dr. Watson or his dear mother got to him before he got to the Minister. A glance at the clock on his desk told him it was ten in the morning. A little less than one more hour, and the trial would commence.

He supposed it was time to go to the ministry. Maybe he would have a talk with his father about Voldemort's Army and the recent attack on the Minister of Magic, or maybe he would drop by the Department of International Magical Cooperation, or maybe he would try talking to the Minister of Magic, herself, again. He supposed he would see when he got there.

With that, Mycroft Holmes forced himself from his chair and made his way to the fireplace that sat in the center of the far wall. He took a pinch of a bright green powder from a bag on the mantle and threw it into the flames, turning them emerald green.

"Ministry of Magic." he said simply, before stepping into the fire.

He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, as he spun downwards, past where the ground would logically be. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but as he couldn't apparate – never mind that he had heard apparation was worse – and couldn't fly, it was this or cars, and those were just a waste of time for going directly to the Ministry of Magic.

He tumbled out of the fireplace at the ministry and quickly brushed himself off, as he got to his feet. A quick scan of the atrium showed him several minor officials, a few visitors, and a few more than the usual array of reporters; no one of interest. With an hour left before the trial, he would have gone straight to the Minister's office, but after the attack, security had been heightened enough that it wasn't really worth the effort, at the moment.

Another scan of the room. The elevator grate was opening and a familiar figure stepped out amongst the crowd. It was Dr. John Watson, obviously forced to leave Sherlock's side for the time being. Mycroft strode over to him with an air of enforced informality.

"Good morning, Dr. Watson." he said.

The former army doctor jumped in surprise and turned just as quickly, his eyes were widened in shock from Mycroft's sudden appearance.

"Good morning." Dr. Watson said warily, though his expression betrayed an element of relief at the absence of an attack.

Mycroft continued with his usual ambiguous smile, "How is my brother fairing?"

"Well enough..."

"I suppose he didn't do as much preparation as you would have liked."

Dr. Watson sighed and shook his head, "No, though it'll have to do."

"I can't say I'm surprised. No matter, the Wizengamot is unlikely to acquit him, there is simply too much evidence. I do hope you're not planning on having him deny your _relationship_, it would be counterproductive. Instead I hope to convince the Minister to pardon him."

Dr. Watson's eyes narrowed and his voice rose, "You mean you haven't convinced him yet? You don't _know_ if Sherlock will be jailed for your little gamble?"

Heads turned their direction, though everyone dutifully looked away as Mycroft scanned, the room, meeting each pair of eyes for an awkward instant before moving on to the next. "If you cannot keep your voice down, we will have to go else where." he said, before continuing, "Her, and no, I happen to be working on it. The Minister is a busy woman. I also must remind you that she has already agreed to shorten his sentence to a maximum of two years, and then he will be returned to you."

"We agreed to your plan on the promise that you would make sure nothing happened to him!" his voice dropped, though the anger was no more concealed.

Mycroft interrupted, "And I will."

"You'd better!" Dr. Watson threatened.

"See you at the trial, Dr. Watson." Mycroft replied, before fading back into the crowd.

That went about as well as he expected it to. All things considered, at least Dr. Watson hadn't punched him, which had been a marked possibility. The doctor tended to be rather protective of Sherlock, but he supposed that was a good thing, Sherlock needed someone to watch out for him, other than Mycroft of course. Anyways, Dr. Watson had obviously needed to let off steam, and he was fine with obliging. It was only fair as he had been the one to get them into the situation in the first place.

A glance at his watch told him he had occupied half an hour. He supposed it would be a good idea to go down into the courtrooms in about fifteen minutes.

"James! What are you doing here so early?" his sister's loud voice cut through his thoughts and, for a brief second, yet again drew the attentions of everyone else in the room in his direction.

He turned towards her and asked sarcastically, "Do you want to draw the attention of everyone in the room?" She ignored his jibe so he continued, "I could ask the same of you." though he didn't need to, a single glance told him she had been eager to get out of work as early as she could. She did not belong in a desk job, as much was obvious, to him, at least.

Her answer, of course, confirmed this, "Well, it's better than being at work."

"I advise you transfer to the Auror Department," he continued before she could interrupt, "Whether father is head or not."

"But I want my own job! You and Albus live in the muggle world, I can at least do _something_ on my own!" she exclaimed, insignificantly quieter than before – at least the bystanders present were getting an interesting show.

"And how well is that going for you?"

"Shut up."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sorry," her voice dropped to almost a whisper, though rose a bit as she continued, "I'm just _so_ worried about Albus! You're sure he's going to be okay?"

"He will be _fine_," she emphasized the word, "The maximum sentence he could receive is two years, as Azkaban no longer uses Dementors, he should be able to manage."

"If you say so..." she replied sceptically, "Well, I've got to go meet mum and dad, want to come?"

"I will decline." he didn't feel like enduring the media barrage that accompanied "The Boy Who Lived," particularly not under the circumstances.

Instead he gravitated to the edge of the room to watch the proceedings from the sidelines. His father arrived through the visitors' entrance, to be immediately swarmed by reporters. As they stood there, asking questions an auror in plain clothes caught Mycroft's eye. The Minister of Magic, herself was coming down to greet him, so it seemed. And sure enough, the lift opened to reveal Cho Chang. Half the reporters rushed to her, while the others ramined crowded around his father.

The reporters followed as they walked towards each other, and parted when they finally met in the middle. Almost everyone in the room was staring unabashedly, wondering what would happen when the two finally met.

"Good Morning, Mr. Potter. I'm sorry about your son." the Minister began, a hand extended to shake.

"Good Morning." he replied, shaking her hand.

"Shall we?"

He nodded, and they and their entourages made their way down to the courtrooms in separate lifts. Mycroft watched the undercover aurors follow. Something caught his eye, something was wrong. There was someone there that shouldn't be, obviously in disguise, but undoubtedly not one of the aurors. The lift doors closed and began to descend.

Nothing happened.

Mycroft pulled out a small mirror from his pocket and called his head of magical security. A brief conversation latter, he joined the others piling into the next lift, and still, nothing more out of the ordinary occurred. He watched the suspect stranger out of the corner of his eye, but he merely followed the rest into the courtroom and sat down. There was little more a squib like himself could do, except...

He found his sister among the people streaming into the courtroom.

"Lily." he interrupted the discussion she was having with some ministry wizard from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, "Might I have a word?"

She rolled her eyes – she really was getting to old for the gesture – but replied, "Sure." all the same and followed him out of the courtroom.

"I suspect foul play." he said simply gesturing towards the suspicious man.

She nodded, knowing better than to question her brother's knowledge, "What do you want me to do.

"Just be ready for anything."

"Should I tell Albus? What about dad?"

"Albus has enough to worry about, at the moment, our father should be sufficient."

"Okay..." Lily replied.

"That is all."

She nodded and they made their way to their respective seats in the crowd.

* * *

"The trial of Albus Severus Potter, for Sodomy will now commence!" The voice of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot echoed around the giant stone chamber.

All the chattering in the audience ceased as the defendant entered the room from a small door on the right of the room. He was a tall thin man in long black robes, with high cheekbones and messy black hair. His grey eyes bespoke keen intelligence as they swept the room, analyzing everyone they saw. For a split second, his gaze hardened as it landed on his older brother, and softened as it lingered for a moment longer on the shorter man next to him.

Finally, he stopped in the middle of the room and reclined in the hard wooden chair set up for him. The chatter that had surrounded his arrival quieted once more as a slightly over weight young woman, with long brown hair entered the room. Mycroft's eyes narrowed in recognition, she was unmistakably Cassandra Wilde. His frown deepened. What was she doing as the investigator in his brother's trial?

It was her profession, but he could have easily changed it for her. He knew she needed to be able to argue something she disagreed with it, but it unsettled him a rather lot more than he would have liked to admit. He had trusted her, still did, he supposed, but he still felt his heart going cold at this "betrayal." His head raised and his eyes gained a, far from alien, steely glint to them. Dr. Watson gave him a look of confusion, but quickly turned his attention back to the proceeding.

Mycroft followed his gaze.

"Are you Albus Severus Potter?" he heard Miss. Wilde ask.

Sherlock nodded, at prompting from Dr. Watson, he sat up straight – transforming from a sulky teenager into a professional young adult – and spoke, "Yes, I am." he replied. His voice carried through the room in a steady baritone.

"Have you ever had sexual relations with another man?" the courtroom fell dead silent.

"I refuse to answer that question on grounds of self incrimination."

"Very well." she cleared her throat, "I call Dr. John H. Watson to the stand."

Sound rose in waves as Dr. Watson stood. Mycroft's eyes widened in rare surprise. How had she convinced Dr. Watson to testify against Sherlock? He knew it was her only hope of convicting him, and the court could have attempted to force him, but Dr. Watson would have put up quite the fight, unless... He glanced at his brother, who wore a smirk across his face and at Miss Wilde's wide, mischievous smile. They had all been in on the plan? That was oddly surprising... He could not say he had seen that coming. An unusual feeling, to be sure. Still, he hoped that they all knew what they were doing.

Dr. Watson walked down onto the floor and stood on Miss Wilde's other side. The chief Warlock of the Wizengamot performed a truth spell and they were ready to go.

"Are you Dr. John Hamish Watson?"

"Yes."

"Do you know Mr. Albus Severus Potter?"

"Yes."

"Might I ask, how?"

"I'm recently out of the army - the muggle army - and I was looking for someone to share a flat with. An old friend of mine, from the army, introduced me to Sh- Albus who was looking for the same. We moved in together the very next day, that was January 30th, 2010." he paused.

"Is it true that you are a muggle?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

Dr. Watson smiled wistfully as he recounted the old memory, "That very day, Sher- Albus invited me to join him in solving a mystery."

"You keep correcting yourself, why is that?"

"Well, you see, in the muggle world, Albus calls himself Sherlock Holmes, so that's how I know him." Dr. Watson explained awkwardly.

"Very well," she turned to the chief Warlock, "Would it be permissible if the witness were to address the defendant as 'Sherlock Holmes' instead of 'Albus Potter?'"

The chief Warlock assented, and Miss Wilde turned back towards Dr. Watson, "You said solving a mystery?"

"Sherlock is a consulting detective, he solves cases that the police can't." it was a poor rendition of Sherlock's own explanation, but it would suffice.

"Police?"

"Muggle law enforcement..." he attempted.

"Okay, what happened after that?"

"For the next year and a half we solved mysteries together and became increasingly close." Dr. Watson hesitated, "I suppose it was then that I fell in love with Sherlock Holmes, and I'd say that he did the same."

"What happened after a year and a half?"

"On June 16th, 2011, Sherlock, here, faked his own death. He was missing for six months, until, on December 28th of the same year, he returned. I suppose we became a couple then, though everyone thought we were one long before then." he chuckled to himself.

"Would you say you would do anything for Albus Potter, or Sherlock, as you call him?"

"Yes." Dr. Watson replied simply.

"Then why are you here testifying against him?"

"Because we agreed that there is no point in hiding who we are, in our world, or in the wizarding one." The line sounded a bit rehearsed, as far as Mycroft was concerned – Dr. Watson was no actor – but it was effective enough.

"Is it true that you are now engaged to Mr. Potter?"

"Yes. He proposed on the night we 'came out' to the family."

"Have you ever had sexual relations with Mr. Potter?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, "Do you really need to ask?" but replied as Sherlock had, all the same.

"You may go, Dr. Watson. Thank you." he returned to his seat greatly relieved as Miss Wilde turned to the Wizengamot and the rest of the audience.

She cleared her throat once more, before saying, "As you can clearly see, Mr. Albus Severus Potter is guilty of sodomy."

"Mr. Potter," the chief Warlock said, "Do you have a defense?"

Miss Wilde retreated as Sherlock stood. He swept the entire courtroom with a lingering glance. His voice cut through the silence, "Love should not be a crime." was all he said, before sitting once more.

The Wizengamot voted on the spot. The hands were counted and Sherlock lost by one vote. The Wizengamot stood to leave, their duty finished.

A loud bang shook the room.

Lily was the first on her feet, wand out, spells blasting from its tip as fast as she could think of them. Mycroft stood and took note of the situation as far as he could see it, before calling out orders to all who could hear him. A team of highly trained wizards flooded the room, joining his subordinates who had filtered in throughout the trial. His father had called the aurors. Amongst the chaos, he glimpsed Miss Wilde, he was going to send someone over to assist her, but he hesitated. She shot a blast from her wand and ran from the room. Sherlock Holmes crumpled to the ground.

Mycroft's veins turned to ice as the cold anger that earned him the name "Iceman" came over him. "Stop her!" Mycroft ordered everyone around him, pointing towards the door. A dozen of his subordinates and numerous other wizards ran out after her, but she was long gone.

* * *

Mycroft got out of the black ministry car in front of an old, abandoned department store. He stepped through the broken window, into the surprisingly quiet reception area of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He passed the witch at the front desk and went straight to the lift. He was thankfully alone. Four floors later he stepped out and traced the familiar path to his brother's room.

Dr. Watson had not moved from Sherlock's side since they had arrived. But Sherlock was awake, unlike he had been at the past few times Mycroft had visited.

"I'm glad you're doing well." Mycroft remarked, "The Minister of Magic has graciously decided to pardon you, and they are considering repealing the law, though we will see."

Dr. Watson grinned victoriously. He and Sherlock exchanged a brief kiss, before turning back to Mycroft. Their excited expressions quickly turned serious, when they noticed Mycroft's frown.

Dr. Watson took the hint and stood, "I'll be going now. Sherlock, do you want any tea?"

Sherlock nodded and Dr. Watson left the two brothers alone.

"You fall in love and she happens to be a member of the VA, I recommend staying as far away from romance as possible." Sherlock said scathingly, though there was a rare hint of sympathy to his voice.

Mycroft grimaced, "I am aware. I thought you might want to know: Polaris Lestrange, alias Cassandra Wilde, is one of the leaders of Voldemort's Army. The attack yesterday was part of a plan to assassinate our family as well as several high-ranking military officials, plunging the nation into chaos so that they could take over. They chose your trial as a time to attack for obvious reasons."

"You've caught an informant?"

Mycroft nodded.

The two brilliant brothers exchanged a glance of mutual understanding, before Mycroft stood, his expression in it's usual ambiguous smile, "I expect to receive an invitation to the wedding."

"Who said we were having a _wedding_?"

"Unless you plan on disappointing, mother, and father, and Lily, not to mention Ms. Hudson. And I'm sure Ms. Watson would be thrilled to hear that her brother just got married in a courthouse without inviting her."

"That doesn't mean I have to invite _you_." Sherlock conceded defeat in his own way.

"Fair enough." Mycroft turned and walked out the door. As much as he would have liked to stay and chat, he had work to do, after all, he was a very busy man.

* * *

_**Author's Note: And with that, Matchmaker, Matchmaker comes to an end. I thank everyone who stayed with me through this little series, it means more to me than you know. I'd love to hear what you all thought about this story, what you liked, and, more importantly, what you didn't - what you think I could improve on.**_

_**At some point, there will be a loose prequel to Murder and a Family Reunited (Mycroft and John will not be featured), called Hogwarts a Mystery, but I'm not sure when I'll start posting. If you like my fanfictions, I recommend checking out my original stories at camillevwatson dot tumblr dot com (address subject to change). Also, I've been thinking of holding a fanfiction writing challenge, so if anyone's interested in that, tell me and I'll make it happen.**_

_**Again, thank you all so much,**_

_**- V**_


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